


the secret man of the world

by j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Secretly soft, illegal soft lonely eyes, inspired by Master & Commander, peter has an emotion, pre-season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22483675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: Since he's Head of the Institute now, Peter decides to explore Elias's office. (That's very Beholding, right? It's like he's doing them a favor.)Written for the Tundra Project
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 20
Kudos: 195





	the secret man of the world

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to whoever it was who sent me an ask a million years ago about Lonely Eyes with the Aubrey/Maturin dynamic; this was inspired by my favorite scene from _The Commodore_.
> 
> Also many thanks to kess for their feedback, which improved this immeasurably.

It only took a day and a half for Peter to tire of the novelty of sitting behind Elias's desk. Admittedly part of what Elias seemed to enjoy so much was giving that patient, condescending look to someone sitting on the other side of it, and Peter was entirely uninterested in any kind of exercise of power that required another person to actually be present. So on the afternoon of the second day, he set to exploring.

(It was only fair, he reasoned. It was probably even a favor, really; surely Beholding would appreciate him prying into Elias's private things. A sort of concession to the local culture.)

A gold-handled paneled door that nearly matched the wall around it revealed a reasonably luxurious bathroom, complete with shower and well stocked with familiar-smelling hair and face creams. Across the room another, better-hidden door concealed an elaborate cabinet of curiosities, half-filled with a variety of artifacts and mementos: a few books, a jar with two wriggling silver worms, what looked to be a compete human skeleton wrapped into a tidy bundle, a length of finger-thick rope that Peter would bet was spider-silk. A few things struck a chord of memory; Salesa would probably be thrilled to have a look in here. Something to keep in mind, if necessary.

The sideboard featured a very fine brandy, tucked away between two much cheaper ones, which would probably explain a great deal about the variation in the quality of the drinks he'd been offered over the years, if Peter could be bothered to identify the common thread. All very interesting, surely, but nothing terribly surprising.

Peter found himself disappointed as he began to rifle through the desk drawers, not particularly expecting anything of interest, but instead they proved surprisingly fruitful. Tucked into several years of budgets was a range of notes and details on various Institute donors, both those who were familiar with the Institute's true purpose and those who were merely mundane eccentrics. The notes were probably blackmail material of some description, but they also made for terrific reading, showing off Elias's usually well-concealed sarcasm to its best. A sheaf of building diagrams traced the history of modifications to the building (including, amusingly, the conversion of a small apartment into that extravagant ensuite). Peter carefully laid those aside, in the hopes that they might prove genuinely useful.

He had never cared much for the statements that had always been Magnus's stock in trade – he had little interest in whatever happened to someone he met once they had left him alone – but something made him linger over the small stack of papers tucked in the back of a drawer. He was surprised to find that he recognized the first of them, the terrified narrative of a stranded dockworker from one of the _Tundra_ 's ports of call. He had never set foot on her deck, but after she left port, he realized that he could not find his way out of the thick fog that enshrouded the docks, and no one would answer his cries for help. The sun didn't burn off the fog for three days, and by the time he finally emerged, he found it impossible to speak; he had shouted himself hoarse, but his voice never returned. (The man never did make the connection with his outrageous behavior in the dockside bar the night before.)

Beneath that, there was another statement, much tidier and significantly less distressed. It had been written by a local artist and busybody from Portsmouth, about a quiet, dark alley with a history of disappearances (and where Peter was fond of taking a pipe from time to time.) And after that one, the statement of a former deckhand; and after that, one of Salesa's men.

Less than a dozen statements in all, covering a span of more than twenty years. Only rarely was he or the _Tundra_ mentioned by name, but Peter could see a pattern when it was laid out so clearly in front of him. Even the older pages were crisp, scarcely handled; if anyone had touched them aside from the writer and Elias himself, Peter would be surprised. The Archivist had never seen these, neither Gertrude nor the fragile young thing mostly dead in a hospital bed.

It was a small thing, really; the Eye still saw those stories, of course. He was under no illusions about that. But it was something, to know that his stories had never been used to feed the Archivist, that Elias had gone to the trouble of making sure that they weren't. "Downright sentimental of you," Peter told the room in general, and he filed the statements away again before the feeling in his chest could blossom into something entirely unforgivable.


End file.
